“Yes!” I practically begged. “Please. I can’t take much more.” He entered me slowly, hesitant in case I wanted to stop. But I didn’t want to stop. I wanted him inside me. In my impatience, I thrust my hips up to meet him, taking all of him. Instead of satisfying me, though, I just wanted more. I pulled his head down to mine and captured his mouth. As he started to move, he swallowed my moans, our lip never parting as we reached our peak and soared over the edge.
We lay together afterward, in an afterglow of sex and satisfaction, and fell asleep in complete contentment. I was sure that there would never be another man for me.
Why, then, had a single kiss with a brooding stranger set my blood to boiling? It was possessive, demanding. Everything that Steve wasn’t. Maybe I’m malfunctioning after two years of abstinence. Maybe it’s what I deserve for cheating on Steve’s memory. I had no intention of kissing Atticus Colt that night. But then, he was probably used to women throwing themselves at him. He probably thinks I’m just another groupie looking for a story to tell my girlfriends over an evening of drinks and gossip. He’d be wrong. And I hate him for it.
I’m so glad I’ll never see him again.
Chapter 9
On Second Thought
Samuel Foster
Ihate to admit it, but Cory’s words may have gotten to me. Fuck…mafia.Why didn’t I pay more attention? When my agent first told me about this tour, I suspected there was something ‘off’ about the gig. He’d mentioned a couple of times that the organizers weren’t the type of people you could mess with. It pinged my radar, but Cory’s always in such financial shit I guessed he’d just got himself in some kind of trouble. Maybe gambling. He’s a moron.
But Russian mafia…those guys are ruthless. I may have bitten off more than I can chew. On impulse, I call Cory.
“Atticus!” his voice chirps into the phone, and I know he’s not alone; he calls me Samuel unless we’re dealing with my public persona. “Hey, man, what’s up?”
“I was thinking…” I begin, hating what I’m about to say. “Maybe you could organize a special performance with a small gathering after? Arrange drinks with…our friend?”
He knows what I’m talking about and I can practically hear the little cogs working in his brain. “Sure! Sure, Atticus! I bet he’d love that. The schedule’s pretty full, but there’s a gap on Sunday morning. Maybe a VIP brunch show?”
Suits me fine. It’s not like I have anything else to do, and I doubt it’s going to screw with Oleg’s church routine. “Perfect,” I say to Cory, “make it happen.”
“Sure thing, boss,” he says eagerly, ‘I’ll set it up.”
An hour later he’s calling back to let me know that we have a small theatre booked, along with a cocktail lunch in the hotel penthouse after my performance. Oleg and his cohorts will be there, along with some other bigwigs. He’s already sold half the golden circle tickets to the thing. I don’t know how he organized it so fast, but I guess that’s what he’s best at. Pulling strings. I’m hoping his strings will keep me out of the mess of trouble I might have put myself in.
I pace around my suite for a few minutes. If I was home, I’d probably go for a run, but it’s fucking freezing outside; snow covers parked cars, and a gray slush coats the sidewalks that I know are treacherously slippery. A trip to the hotel restaurant is out of the question too – every time I show my face in the place, I get mobbed by strangers. Unless I’m in one of my ridiculous disguises…and after my last little excursion I don’t want to take another chance on that. I grab my phone and fire off a text to Arielle. Just thinking about her settles me a little.
No, asshole…thinking about Munchkin. Thinking about home…
Why would I let myself believe that she’s the one I want to reach out to? I know it’s late back there, but I don’t expect a reply; she’s probably asleep. Just the act of sending the message is soothing somehow.
That’s all it is.
Chapter 10
Midnight Chat
Arielle Nygard
Austin doesn’t want to go to bed. So I allow him to stay up for another hour. And then another, hoping to avoid a tantrum. But by eleven ‘o clock, I’m struggling to keep my eyes open, so I steel myself for the fight. He might be small for his age, but he’s also really strong, and when he has a meltdown, I’m finding it increasingly hard to contain him. And contain him I must because he has a tendency to hurt himself. If leave to his own devices, he might hit and pinch himself so hard that skin breaks out in ugly purple bruises. And if that doesn’t quell his frustration, he’ll turn to me, biting, kicking, and hitting until his rage subsides.
So, I hug him tightly, holding him against my chest, while he drums his heels on the floor. I gently rock from side to side and quietly sing a lullaby, and after ten long minutes, Austin begins to calm down. Ten minutes doesn’t sound like a long time, when you’re restraining a wild child, you’ll be panting long before the timer runs out.
The meltdown has worn him out, as I knew it would. I carry him to his room and settle him in his bed and he’s asleep before I turn my back. But I’m not tired any longer. I’m wired with adrenalin. It gave me the strength to contain my son, but now it just makes me jittery. I pace around the house until it wears off, cursing my situation. There are so many times that I still miss Steve but dealing with the hard parenting stuff is when I miss him the most.
Steve wouldn’t have necessarily been able to avoid one of Austin’s meltdowns, but they were always much easier to deal with when there were two of us. As I pace, tears well in my eyes and fall in tracks down my face. By the time I’m calm enough for bed, I’m also sobbing. The tears release some of the anger and sadness, but that only uncovers a clean sheet of loneliness.
Even though it’s close to midnight, my phone pings, the screen shining out in the darkness of my bedroom. The message is from Sam. He’s traveling around Eastern Europe, so he’s a good eight to ten hours ahead, depending on where his trip has taken him. It still amazes me that he manages such a blistering schedule – it must be harrowing for a man who I’m still convinced is wheelchair-bound.
Hi Arielle, just checking on things at home. Text me back in the morning.
You’re in for a surprise, I think as I answer.
Actually, I’m still awake. Munchkin is doing fine. I gave him his last antibiotic pill this morning. The swelling has completely disappeared and he’s not limping anymore.
